


Pretend Hard Enough

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mollcroft, slight unrequited one sided Shrolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe if he pretends hard enough, it might be true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It gets better I promise ... at least I hope it does. It's supposed to get happier and if it doesn't have a happy ending ... well then I really screwed up somewhere along the way lol

It started, well he wasn’t quite sure how it started, but the one thing he did know was that time and time again, he promised himself that it would be the last time; that he would put an end to it, but without fail, every last time was never the last time.

He always thought that he was the kind of man who did not need anything or anyone; who could live out his days content with just his thoughts and own presence. But oh how he was wrong. She came into his life like a whirlwind, and swept him off of his feet without him knowing it; without him realizing it, until it was too late. He didn’t even think that she was aware of it or maybe she did and she was just chasing a memory through him of something that could have been.

He knows that what they have isn’t real, at least not for her; he could pretend all he wanted that when she looked at him, that she was truly seeing him and not trying to see his brother. He pretends not to care that she is not using him, but the fact is, he is desperate, desperate for her, and if this is all that she can or will offer him, he will take it. Because no matter how much he tried to dissuade himself, some Molly was better than no Molly at all.

That first night, she had reached out to him. It was just days after they had put Sherlock’s “body” into the ground. He had given her assurance that he would keep her safe, even went to the extent of giving her his personal information in case she needed something, anything, for he was grateful and in her debt for helping fake his brother’s death.

She had shown up on his doorstep, dripping wet from the rain; her hair soaked and matted to the side of her face; her cloths clinging to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. She looked up at him, shivering on his doorstep, wringing her hands anxiously.

He opens the door wider to allow her in, not wanting the ears and eyes outside to be privy of the secrets that might be spoken. Quietly, he closes the door and turns to face her, a question on his lips, however, before he is able to voice his question, his arms are suddenly full of this petite woman; her lips crash onto his, harsh; frantic; fumbling. It’s not a soft kiss, but rather one of clashing teeth and sharp nails dug into soft flesh.

He wanted to push her away, but at the first touch of her lips to his; the first brush of her tongue swept across his lips, he was lost to her; utterly lost and helpless.  Maybe the apparent death of his brother had broken him just that little bit, and the way she clung to him, even though it was not for him, helped him feel whole for just the briefest of moments or maybe he really was that lonely, without realizing it, and her need; her desperation made him feel needed.

They don’t make love; there is nothing tender or loving about what they do, yet it is still vibrant and intoxicating. She comes to him out of guilt and loneliness, in need of a warm body and willing partner that knows her secrets; she never sees him, but rather is still chasing him brother, even in death.

They don’t talk; not exactly friends, and definitely not lovers. She always leaves before the sun rises; a soft sigh and a briefest glance over her shoulder as she gathers her clothing. He never actually sees her leave, too much of a coward to see the look in her eye that sees right thought him; past him to the dreams that haunt her.

He’ll pretend with her, for as long as she is willing. He’ll pretend that he doesn’t see the name of his brother half formed on her lips. He’ll pretend that that it is not guilt or self loathing that causes her not to meet his eyes. He’ll pretend that for the briefest of moments that she sees him, all of him, and could actually love him. He’ll pretend that one morning she might just stay; stay wrapped in his arms because that is where she belongs. He’ll pretend not to care that she is using him. And maybe if he pretends hard enough, one day she just might. 


	2. Chapter 2

Their clandestine meetings were always the same; he would receive a text from her starting a time and he would either agree or provide a counter offer, never once, no matter how he wanted to, no matter how many times he said it would be the last time, he would not deny her. This time was no different.

It was late, as usual, when he opens his door to her that night, and like always they share the briefest of glances, the only true eye contact that they will share, as she silently enters his flat. She will hang her coat on the peg by the front door that is always suspiciously empty, almost as if it was waiting for her; that he purposely has reserved for her, and he has, if for nothing more than to add to the illusion that she has a place in his life.

He always offers her a drink that she declines, instead gently taking his hand in her, she leads him up their stairs and into the master bedroom; the lights are always low or off, but that doesn’t matter, she knows the way without having to see; her legs taking her there by memory. All he can do is be silently led by her; this might be his home but for her, he would gladly offer up the moon and the stars.

They share a single kiss, one single kiss, and this is the part he savours the most; the intimate slide of her lips against his; the gentle, almost shy brush of her tongue against his; it tells him the things that she doesn’t know she is sharing with him; this is the part that he savours because it gives him hope that even though this started as a way to remember and keep the memory of his brother alive, it continues quite possibly because of him.

They lay in bed, tangled in the blankets around their waist. She is facing away from him with her back pressed tightly against his chest; his arms encircle her waist from behind, his nose buried in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent, committing it to memory, always as if this was the last time he would be able to, because it really should be the last time, but he can’t help that it isn’t.

The hour grows later and he can’t help but tick down the minutes in his head; she never stays till morning. His eyes are closed and his arms rest loosely around her waist; he fringes sleep, but is acutely aware of even movement, sigh, and breath she makes.

The sheet rustle as she pulls it back and gently eases herself out from under his arm. It would be right about now that he would hear the sound of her slipping on her cloths, but he doesn’t. He is about to take the chance and crack one eye open, when he feels her cool, slender hand brush against him.

She is sat, perched on the side of the bed just about to collect her cloths and leave, still under the cover of night, when something makes her hesitate. She turns to the sleeping form on the bed; her eyes trace along the curve of his shoulder, across the dip of his lips, and the slope of his nose; her eyes trace every freckle and white faded scar. She can’t help but reach out and touch; her fingers sweep across the line of his strong jaw and move to smooth the errant curl at his fringe back against his forehead.

With a small sigh, she lets her hand drop away, and turns her back to him once more to collect her clothing.

At the loss of her touch, he counts a heartbeat, waiting for her back to turn to him, before allowing his eyes to flutter open. He watches as she moves around the room, the low light of the bedside lamp illuminating her.

Her skin is flushed pink, still blushing from their time together; he can just make out the marks left behind from his lips and teeth from the slender slope of her neck to her shoulders; as she passes in front of the mirror he catches her reflection, her hair is tousled and her lips kiss swollen. He realizes, with a start, that he has never really seen her after their encounters, always too afraid to see her leave, and he realizes that she has never looked more stunning than when she wears his marks.

Something wells in him as he thinks about how even though no one can see; that no one knows; for the briefest of moments she is marked as his.

On impulse, he does another thing that he has never done before, embolden by the sight of her, he says her name out loud.

“Molly”

At the sound of her name breaking the silence, her hand stills on the doorknob; her head snaps up and her spine is ramrod straight. She doesn’t turn around to face him, but doesn’t leave either; she waits for him to speak.

“Molly” he calls again, more insistent, and this time she does turn to face him, slowly, reluctantly, almost as if afraid to face him.

He looks away for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and maybe his courage, before meeting her eyes again.

“I have to go away next week, for a week or so” he says. She is use to hearing this; he never tells her where, but it is some comfort to know when he will be back; that he is coming back.

“I’m going to bring him back” he continues. He doesn’t need to say who, she already knows. Her gaze drops to the floor and her breath escapes her in a rush as she struggles to comprehend her thoughts and feelings.

“I can’t be this anymore” he says quietly, at long last, his eyes firmly attached to the sheets twisted in his hands. Maybe it was with the knowledge that in just under a few weeks his brother would be returned and there was no hope for them, or maybe it was because there was hope that maybe, just maybe something might be there and she just needed to see it for herself; you never realizes how much you need or miss something until it is gone. Whatever it was he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“I can’t be your sometimes anymore; I refuse to be just your sometimes” he says with more conviction glancing up at her.

She doesn’t respond at first, and an oppressive silence settles over them. He cannot look at her anymore and turns back over onto his back and stares blankly at the ceiling; his heart aching, screaming at him to take back his words.

 “I ... I ... I have to go” she says at long last, so quietly that he needs to strain his ears to hear her.

And at her words, his eyes close, and again, like always, he doesn’t, he can’t, watch as she leaves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to the shows creators for such wonderful characters and dialogue, especially the dialogue that I used from the solving crimes together scene ... its not word for work and I picked and chose some of the lines that I thought would fit :)
> 
> Hehehe your turn Amy lol

Her fingers were dwarfed in her oversized sweater, her legs clad in a pain of comfortable yoga pants, and her toes gloriously free to wiggle and wriggle about. She is sat curled up on her sofa at home; her legs tucked under her, cradling a hot beverage in her hands, periodically blowing over the top of the cup to cool it down.

She is lost in thought and just staring out into nothingness. She should be happy, ecstatic really, Sherlock was due back in just a few days time; Mycroft had promised her. But try as she might could not shake the feeling of ill ease; maybe it was because he had been gone so long, and when he returned all of what she imagined, was just that, her imagination. Or maybe it was because, she paused, almost startled at where her thoughts were taking her. Maybe it was because Mycroft was away, but that really couldn’t be it, he had been away so many times before, what was one more trip. But this wasn’t just one more trip, this was the last trip; the last trip where he would tell her he was going; the last trip that he would call her upon his return; the last trip that she would be a part of his life.

No, what they had, if she could even call it a ‘they’, was nothing more than the assuaging of guilt; a primal need born out of shared secrets and stress; it was nothing more than the want of a warm body to ease a little bit of the loneliness, wasn’t it?

She shook her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thoughts and doubts creeping into her mind; no, she loved Sherlock, she was sure of it; the way he ... how he ... try as she might she just couldn’t remember the reasons anymore. Molly frowned her brow, maybe she just needed some rest; that was it; she is just tired that’s all.

She gets up from the sofa and pads over to the sink in the kitchen and places her still full cup in the sink, too keyed up to be concerned with her beverage. Switching off the lights she starts to shed her clothing as she makes her way to her bedroom, tossing her dirty laundry in front of the closet that houses her machine.

Picking up the shirt that is draped across the foot of her bed frame, she slips her arms into the sleeves and sighs as the soft material slides around her. She rolls up the sleeves to her elbows, and does up the middle three buttons and lets the rest hang open; she likes the way the cool, light material brushes against her thighs. She can’t help but bring the collar of the shirt to her nose and inhale deeply; there is something about this shirt that is so familiar, but she can’t place where she remembers it from. It is like comfort and security; like hot summer days outside and cold winter days in front of the fire; it’s like home, but more. She can’t remember where she got the shirt from; maybe it was one of Sherlock’s when he was using her home as a bolt hole. With a shrug she pulls the material tighter around her and snuggles down into the blankets and closes her eyes, and lets sleep claim her. What she fails to see thought, is the small script initials, MH, etched into the buttons at the shirt sleeve cuffs.

\-----------------------------------------

This time he hadn’t called or texted to let her know that he had returned, the only confirmation that he was indeed back home was Sherlock showing up and scaring her half to death in the locker room at Bart’s. She shouldn’t be put out, really, because what is it her business whether he inform her or not; he had no responsibility towards her, just as she did not to him, then why did it  bother her so much?

It’s not even like they were friends really, he was just... he was just. Well, that distraction was over and done with, and she for one was glad, wasn’t she?

She bit her lip, not able, or not wanting to finish that final thought, she had to focus; Sherlock was counting on her to be, whatever it was that John was to him, and if she was being honest with herself, she was doing a pretty rubbish job of it.

\---------------------------------------------

She was standing close to him, just behind his shoulder; a half a step closer and she would be pressed against his back. As he bent down, small magnifying glass in hand, she breathed in deeply through her nose, taking in his scent. As she inhaled his heady scent, yes, she could admit that he smelled good, very good actually, but for some reason he just smelt, wrong. He didn’t smell like the shirt at home; his scent didn’t make her think of home or sunny days or a good book in front of the fire. She backed up slightly, startled, a blush rising to her cheeks, as she met his inquiring, expectant eyes.

She gave him a weak smile and slight shake of her head and shrug of her shoulders, indicating she did not know, to what, she wasn’t sure, she never heard his question. He turned back around focusing intently on the video of the train in front of them.

Her eyes were fixed on the back of his head, her mind trying to reconcile and figure out what was different, when her heart already knew, but was not telling. Why did it feel like she had lost something very important, Sherlock was back, so what was lost was now returned, it shouldn’t feel like this anymore, and why won’t the sinking feeling in her stomach just go away. If anything, with each passing hour it got worse.

\-------------------------------------------------------

She followed him down the stairs, staring intently at his back, trying to deduce what was different, what had changed with him, or was it her.

He said something, she was sure of it, but her mind was so adrift she couldn’t comprehend any of the words that he was saying.

“What?” she asked, distractedly.

“Fancy some chips?” he replied as he kept walking down the stairs.

She needed to know; she was done with not knowing; she was tired of wishing, imagining, of day dreaming whether he fancied her or not.

“Sherlock, what was today about?” she asked cautiously as she followed after him down the stairs.

He gazed as her from the bottom of the stairs, his eyes taking in the crease of her brow and lithe to her voice that singled her confusion and uncertainty.

“It was a thank you” he told her, as if that alone would convey his feelings for her; that he appreciated her; that he thought that she was special; that he wanted her to be a part of his life, his whole life.

“For what?” she questioned, not quite comprehending his meaning. A ‘thank you’ was not what she wanted to hear, a ‘thank you’ was something one said to a friend, just a friend, she thought with some disappointment.

“For everything you did for me” he continued; his voice low and rough.

“It’s okay, it’s my pleasure” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“No, I mean it” he said with more conviction.

Here her head snapped up, and her eyes finally met his. In them she could see emotion swirling in his icy blue depths; something that she had never seen directed towards her before, and it made the breath catch in her throat. However, when she thought she should be soaring on a high of elation at finally being the centre of his attention, all she felt was a cold, sinking feeling settle in her stomach; what she felt earlier was nothing to what she was experiencing now. She should be falling into his eyes; should be swept away by feeling and emotion, but she wasn’t. His eyes swirled, sparkled, and glowed for her; they were beautiful, but that was all, just beautiful.

“No I didn’t mean pleasure, I mean I wanted to do it” she replied, her voice stuttering a bit.

He took a step closer to her; he towered over her now, and she had to crane her neck upwards to be able to meet his eyes. She could feel the heat rolling off of his body even through the many layers of clothing, and all she wanted to do was take a step backwards; was it because she was overwhelmed by him or slightly uncomfortable because of him, she didn’t know, but she stood her ground refusing to move.

“Moarity slipped up, he made a mistake. You are the one person he thought didn’t matter at all, but you are in fact the one person that matters the most. You made it possible” he breathed; his deep voice just above a whisper.

She saw his intent before even he knew what he was doing. As he slowly lowered his face to hers, she could feel his hot breath tickling her lips, she should be buzzing with excitement; she was finally going to feel the press of his lips against hers. She leaned subtly in towards him, going to meet him halfway, but just as her eyes fluttered shut, it wasn’t Sherlock’s face that she saw before her minds eyes, and just as his lips touched hers, she turned her face slightly to the side, and his lips caught softly on her cheek.  

Slightly taken aback, his lips lingered hesitantly on her cheek for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes full of question and confusion. She would not meet his gaze, rather choosing to stare at her feet; head bent and abashed.

“Today was lovely, thank you. But I don’t think ...” she said; her voice trailing off, the true meaning and intent of her words hanging heavy between them.

They stood there silently for a moment, an awkwardness having settled over them; both uncertain; this was something they both thought they wanted, what they thought the other wanted, but evidently something had changed.

His hands were clasped behind his back; his fists tightly gripped together.

“I hope you will be very happy Molly Hooper, you deserve it” he said, meaning every word; if she was happy, he would be happy just for that fact alone.

With one last smile that was both sad and happy, he turned from her and strode out the door.

Closing her eyes tightly, she willed her tears not to fall. Taking a deep steadying breath that made her body shudder, she let her eyes flutter back open. She gave herself a moment to collect herself, still staring at the spot that she had just left, before following him out.

The snow was falling lightly as she stepped outside. She slipped on her gloves as she made her way down the short walkway, just catching the snap of the tails of his dark Belstaf coat as it went around the short brick wall. Coming to the end of the walkway, her eyes followed him until he blended into the distance. Watching him disappear, oddly did not feel like something was ending, but rather something new, something bigger was about to begin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long for me to update ... real life is just such a bother.

She paced in front of a non descript, white washed, government building; her phone clutched tightly to her chest; her eyes glancing down periodically to check (one last time) to see if he had responded to any of her messages.

She was trying to work up the nerve to go into the building and search for him; at first she knew that she deserved him ignoring her and she accepted it and gave him his space, but after the second, third, and then fourth week of not a single word from him, her reluctant acceptance turned to annoyance, then anger, and now to a stomach plunging worry. Where was he; did something happen to him; was it all her fault; was he still alive, were the thoughts that kept racing through her mind; that kept her up at night and left dark circles under her eyes; that had her peering into every dark corner expecting to see him cloaked in the shadows.

She ran up the stairs before she lost her nerve, only to be stopped at the front desk by a security guard in a dark blue, nylon suit.

“Woah there Miss. Can I help you?” he asked as he got to his feet to block her way.

“I... well I’m here to see Mr. Holmes” she replied uneasily.

“Do you have an appointment Miss?”

After a hesitant moment, she shook her head in the negative.

“Then I am sorry Miss, you will have to come back when you have a proper appointment” he told her as he started to usher her out of the lobby.

“I ... well... it’s important,” She tried to argue her case, but her mind was blank with any feasible reasons why it was imperative that she see him that moment.

At that moment she heard the distinctive clicking of sharp, stiletto heels over the tiled floors. Her head snapped up as she recognized the sound and who it belonged to.

“Anthea!”she called out, trying to catch the attention of the other woman.

The woman in question briefly took her focus off of the blackberry in her hands to meet her eyes. As she saw Molly there, her brows frowned, as she pursed her lips.

“Anthea... I just ... please ... I need...” she trailed off, not wanting all and sundry to be privy to the private situation between her and Mycroft.

Sweeping her eyes around the lobby quickly, Anthea noticed that they were beginning to gather an audience, and that would just not do for Mr. Holmes and anything involving him. With a put upon sigh, she motioned for the security guard to let the other woman through. With a silent nod to the tall brunette, he silently stepped aside.

 With a grateful nod, Molly jogged to catch up to the other woman who led her silently into a small, simple office.

 Closing the door behind her, Molly turned to face the PA; before she was able to voice herself, Anthea cut her off.

“You don’t deserve him” she says tersely, cutting straight to the chase; arms crossed over her chest, a simmering resentment marring her face. Mr. Holmes was more than just her boss; he was one of her best, most trusted friends and confidants. Although not in a romantic sense, she loved and cared for him deeply, and watching as his heart was slowly and painfully torn apart by this woman, made her shake with rage, however she knew that he would be hard pressed to forgive her if she interfered... much.

Molly hung her head, reliving the shame of her actions once again.

“I...No I really don’t... I just came to say... that I am sorry. I made a huge, horrible mistake and I just need for him to know how sorry I am. I’m not asking for him to forgive me, I know I’ll never forgive myself. I’m not asking for him to take me back or love me, no matter how much I wish it, I just need him to know that I am sorry, truly” her voice wavered; tears choking her words as she let them flow unhindered down her cheeks, running her eyeliner that she used to try and hide the circles under her eyes.

The tall brunette listed to the other woman’s words, carefully analyzing them for any deceptions or lies, but could find none; only finding a woman who would lay her soul bare for a man who had every right to break her heart the way she did his.

Anthea heaved a huge sigh as she let her arms drop to her side. Shaking her head slightly, she addressed her, “He isn’t here Dr. Hooper”

He worked, a lot; it always seemed to take over his life, except the few moments when she would contact him; the thought that he wouldn’t be here never crossed her mind.

“Oh” she said, slightly bewildered, and more than a little defeated.

She hung her head and turned to leave; her hand poised on the doorknob.

“Oh ... well... er thanks ... ok” she said softly.

She was about to pass through the door, when Anthea’s words stopped her.

“I won’t pretend like I understand what the two of you had or that I am not furious with you for what you did to him, but he was ... happier when he was with you” Anthea conceded.

“I could ... talk to him to see if ...” she trailed off with a shrug of her shoulders.

With a tight lipped nod to the other woman in thanks, Molly left through the open door, letting it swing shut quietly behind her.

Letting out a sigh, Anthea braced a hand against her hip as she used the other to massage the ache in her temple away; what she wouldn’t do for her silly, stubborn, annoyingly lovable boss; friend, always amazed her.

Without looking up she said into the room, “You can come out now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG its the end! I hope you all enjoyed it and want to say a huge thanks for sticking in there with me
> 
> As well, special shout out to Amythe3lder for editing and just in general all the encouragement and warm fuzzy feelings lol :)

Chapter 5

He stood there frozen in the shadows, unable to move after what he witnessed.

“Are you going to go after her?” Anthea said as she didn’t hear any movement from his side of the room.

He hesitated in indecision; not making a move to go after her.

She finally looked up at him, “I swear to god Mycroft Holmes, if you don’t go after her, and I so much as hear or see you moping around after her, I will personally kick your ass” she said, trying to sound light and playful.

As she met his eyes, the vulnerability and hurt made her chest feel tight, but it was the sliver of hope in his eyes that just made her want to fold him into her arms and keep the world away from him.

“Go after her, this time will be different, is different, and you know I wouldn’t be tell you this if I truly didn’t think so. Hell if I didn’t think so, I would have already hidden the body” she reassured him with a wry quirk of her lips.

A small smile formed on his lips, it was still sad and restrained, but it was more than she had seen on him in weeks. He strode over to the door, only to stop and back track his steps to her. Standing in front of her, he folded her into a tentative hug.

“Thank you” he muttered into her hair, drawing courage from one of his very limited supply of true friends.

Patting his back lightly, she replied, “Just remember, you are loved. Now get out of here”

\----------------------------------------------------------

He stepped out of the building just as he sees her rounding the corner, and sets off at a brisk pace to catch up with her. He slowed his pace as he saw her round another corner down a narrow alley way, so not as to startle her. Taking a deep breath he rounds the corner to see her hunched over form; her hands braced on her knees as she leaned against the wall for support. He could hear her muffled sobs and she buried her face into her hands.

He took a few tentative steps towards her, stopping just a short distance from her.

“... Molly?” he called out to her, his voice filled with concern.

At the sound of her name from his lips, her head whipped up, and she scrambled to push herself off of the wall, straighten up, and swipe viciously at her tears.

“M-M-Mycroft! I ... um...” she stuttered out, stunned to see him standing in front of her.

“Are ... you alright?” he asked her, his voice and face once again devoid of emotion.

She made to step towards him, but stopped short as she noticed his body stiffen, and the twitch of his hands by his side, one of the few tells she knew signaled his discomfort. Her eyes began to well again, but she tried to push the feelings down so she would be able to tell him all that she needed.

“I’m sorry... I made a mistake, the biggest mistake that I ever could in my life, and I will... I do regret it and will for the rest of my life” she implored, her voice catching; not being able to meet his eyes.

“I-I’m not asking you to love me because I don’t deserve your love, all that I ask is for you to forgive me, please” she finished, pleading with him; her hands twisted anxiously.

He paced a few steps away from her, his back turned to her; _she was just as lovely, if not more so than the first time he saw her_ , he thought. Shoving one hand deep into his pocket, to keep it from twitching at his side; his other hand moving up to card through his hair in agitation, before he turned to face her once again, “Forgiveness is not given because some deserves it, but because they need it” he said matter-of-factly.  

“I tried so hard to not love you,” he let out a sigh in a big rush, letting a pregnant pause fill the air for a few moments, his arms falling resignedly to his sides with a slight shrug, “but... it’s hard to tell your mind to stop loving someone when your heart still does,” he finished.

At his words she quickly closed the space between them, throwing her arms around him, and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Instinctively, his arms came up to wrap around her, reveling in the feel and weight of her in his arms once again; his hands stroking up and down her trembling form.

As he felt her shaking cease, he untangled himself from her and took half a step back, tilting her chin up slightly so he could meet her eyes.

“I can’t _and won’t_ be someone I am not. Take me as I am, or please don’t take me at all,” he whispered quietly; his forehead coming to rest against hers; one of his hands holding onto hers as if his last lifeline; his other hand coming up to gently ghost the tips of his fingers across her cheek.

She shook her head, the tears clinging to her lashes breaking free and rolling down her cheeks.

“I only want you, just as you are. You may have started off as my sometimes, but somewhere along the way you became my always; my everything.”

He cupped her cheeks in his warm palm; his thumb gently brushing away an errant tear, then softly stroking across her lower lip, freeing it from the clutches of her teeth. Ever so slowly, he bent his head towards her upturned lips. He let his mouth hover just above hers for a moment, feeling the hot puff of her breath against his, before capturing her in a tender kiss that was meant to convey promise, acceptance, and forgiveness.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

That night it’s different; gone are the fumbling, frantic hands of someone who is on borrowed time; gone are the fleeting looks.Rather, they are replaced by moments where they freely hold each other’s gaze, giving and sharing each other’s soul.Gone is the silence, as she whispers his name hotly as her body arches into his touch.

She may be gone again by morning, he thought as he buried his nose in her hair at the back of her neck, inhaling deeply, committing to memory everything about her scent mingled with his, letting it wash over him with a sigh as his arms came up to encircle her waist, drawing her tighter against his chest; but what they shared was not an ending, it was only the beginning.

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The hazy, morning light of the dawn filters through the sheer, gauze curtains, bathing the room in a soft, subdued grey. He doesn’t know what awakens him, until his eyes flutter open and he notices that his bed is empty and the sheets on the other side of the bed had long since cooled.

He closes his eyes once again willing himself to breathe again; he can feel a burn in his eyes, and he clenches them tighter shut willing the tears and hollow feeling in his chest away. As he mentally reaches the 15th decimal place in pie, he hears the door to his room creak open, and his eyes snap open.He props himself up on his elbow, and watches as the door is slowly pushed open.

He watches as she struggles with the door to bring a tray laden with breakfast into the room, his eyes seeing but not quite believing the sight of her. His mind needs to be reassured by the feel of her skin under his fingers to cement this in his reality.

She reaches the bedside and set the tray down on the small night stand, sinking down onto the bed. Molly tucks one of her legs under herself, her body angled towards his. She gives him a shy smile from under long lashes, pulling nervously at the long sleeves of his shirt that she had thrown on, uncertain if in the light of morning he would reject her and blame being caught up in the moment yesterday for a slip in his judgment.

She gave a timid shrug of her shoulders before saying bashfully, “I thought you might like ...”

Before she is able to finish her sentence, he pulls her to him, crushing her in his embrace. He brings his lips to hers in a passionate, desperate kiss that served to reassure them both of their tentative, but strengthening love for one another.

When they finally drew apart, breaths panting, and chests heaving, he whispered against her lips, “You are all I need.”

  
End.


End file.
